


Upon Thy Lips

by Carmenlire



Series: Tumblr Prompts [29]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Napoleonic Wars, Permanent Injury, Returning Home, Separations, Soldier Alec Lightwood, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:42:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/pseuds/Carmenlire
Summary: “When the war ends, we will marry in the old church on the edge of my property. Until then, consider this ring a promise of my intentions and let it guide you back home to me.”It’s been a long five years, Alec thinks now. There are no guarantees that Magnus wouldn’t have found someone else in the intervening years, that a boy’s promise hasn't become a man’s burden.Or, Alec returns from war a broken man and Magnus has waited five years for his love to come back to him.





	Upon Thy Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by summers-hazy: War's End Kiss

The road is long and lonely. With every plodding step, though, home nears.

He feels like he’s aged a decade no matter that his commission is only half that long. With a wry twist of his mouth, he can’t help but think that the civilians have no idea what it’s like. Sure, there are parades for the officers and his red coat is brushed to perfection and the gold of his buttons gleam by the light of a thousand chandeliers as he’s celebrated at yet another fête but it seems the worst sort of cruelty when his mind is cast back to battlefields where he can still remember his men’s screams, still flinches at the memory of gunpowder and lethal bayonets.

It makes bile rise in his throat but sometimes he wishes that he’d followed his mother’s pleading. There’s a little piece of him that wishes, for once, he’d followed convention but no-- he’d had something to prove and had felt called to do more with his life than settle accounts and collect rent from his tenants. He wanted to secure his family's honor for another generation, had felt duty and responsibility twine around his neck until he felt like suffocating.

So, he’d enlisted in His Majesty’s Army to fight against Napoleon and in the process, he can’t help but wonder if he’s lost a piece of his soul. 

Shifting on his horse, his thoughts are cast back to a time before-- when he was still young and idealistic and didn’t give a fig that he was the oldest and therefore exempt from war. He remembers talking to his best friend and daydreaming about being the one to finally end France’s threat against their little corner of the world. He remembers elegant dinners and peaceful drawing rooms and sharing teasing looks with his sister as their parents bickered about how on earth they had raised such rambunctious children.

His hands tighten on the reigns as he looks over at the empty space next to him. He can almost hear the second pair of hooves on the road, his brother’s obnoxious laughter scaring the birds away.

Jace had died at the Battle of Waterloo five months ago and the grief stings like an open wound, still rises up to choke the breath from him if he lingers on the horrifying realization a moment too long.

Without quite realizing, the Earl of Idris is squeezing his left hand in a tremulous fist. It’s only after a moment, though, that he feels the metal of a ring digging into flesh. It’s a welcome distraction and makes him take a shuddering breath.

Looking down, he sees the ring his betrothed had given him the night before he’d left for battle.

The gold gleams in the afternoon light. The sun is just starting to set over the horizon and as his horse plods on, his eyes warm immeasurably.

Childhood friends, as their lands bordered each other, it had been the most natural thing in the world when, after the fall they’d turned sixteen, The Marquess of Edom had found him in the stables cooling down his horse. 

They’d both been home for the holiday break, wrapping up another term at Eton, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the way his heart pounded anytime the other boy was near. They lived on different floors but found themselves inseparable, eating together in the dining hall, sharing classes, staying up late in the common rooms studying and talking as the tension sharpened until it threatened to shatter.

That’s how it felt to him at least.

Back at Lightwood Hall, he’d felt his best friend’s presence even before he spoke. He hadn’t minded, though, and the stables had remained silent as he’d taken the tack gear off and reached for a brush after his morning exercise, murmuring praise that made the mare whinny in a sound that made them both smile.

Bane had just stood there at the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb and it had been comfortable for all that they'd both felt like they were crawling out of their skin.

“Darling,” his best friend had finally asked, voice coy. “Aren’t you getting tired?”

“Tired of what,” he’d asked absently, finally setting his brush down and stepping away towards him.

“Tired of making us both wait,” had been the quiet response and his breath had stopped at the words, at the acknowledgement they’d both been dancing around for ages.

Looking up, he’d seen all of his feelings reflected in brown eyes that had the most beautiful habit of flashing gold in the right light.

Without a word, Alec had closed the few feet that separated them. He’d had a moment to catalog the fawn breeches, the emerald jacket over black waistcoat. His best friend's Hessians gleamed with a new polish and he was an enthralling mix of comfortable and unknown that had Alec's heart racing.

Ducking close, he’d tilted his head and when their lips had met, the rest of the world had fallen away. They’d ended up dashing into an empty stable, tripping into a pile of hay. 

Remembering now, he doesn’t know how long they’d stayed in the shadows, only that it had seemed at once an eternity and bare moments before they heard the footsteps of the liveried stable boys rushing to ready a carriage. They’d stifled their giggles, their euphoric joy at this next step of their relationship, against each other’s mouths.

Their courtship had last a few years before Alec had found he couldn’t ignore his conscious any longer. He’d enlisted with his brother and while no one liked it, they all knew his mind would not change.

That last night before he’d left to fight, Magnus had climbed up the tree next to his window and they’d spent all night together, neither sleeping, just talking in the dark, wrapped around each other. They’d talked until their voices grew hoarse-- from length or because of the tears they were keeping back, neither one could tell.

Finally, when dawn’s light had started creeping through the drapes, he’d felt Magnus reach for his hand and place an object in it.

“When the war ends and you defeat that bastard-- because I refuse to accept anything else, darling-- we will marry in the old church on the edge of my property. Until then, consider this ring a promise of my intentions and let it guide you back home to me.”

It’s been a long five years, he thinks now. There are no guarantees that Magnus wouldn’t have found someone else in the intervening years, that a boy’s promise hasn't become a man’s burden.

Not an inconsiderable amount of Alec wonders if the horrors he’s seen on the battlefield won’t be enough to make Magnus falter.

His leg throbs, by turns numb and burning as he’s been in the saddle for fourteen hours with another few miles to go before he reaches his destination.

There have been letters throughout the years. Briefly, he wonders how many never managed to find him but hope is a persistent bedfellow and he can’t help but cling to it, to the words his love has written him, all of which are seared onto his heart.

It’s his truth that they kept him alive throughout the war, sometimes when it seemed impossible, sometimes even when he didn’t want them to.

Finally, as the last of the day’s light glides over him, he makes the final turn into the drive of Edom Manor.

He works on his breathing, shifts restlessly in the saddle. The horse seems to sense his unease and tries to sidestep but he’s lived and breathed on horseback since he was a child and it’s the work of a moment to get her in line.

As he nears the front door, he’s surprised to hear it opening before he stops. Expecting the butler, Alec looks up only to find eyes that have haunted his dreams staring at him in stunned hope.

They’re too far away for him to hear the words but he swears they kiss over his skin as he sees his love’s lips move.

“Alexander?”

Magnus doesn’t move, just watches as Alec nears and comes to a stop just a few yards away. It’s a painstaking process and he grits his teeth as he climbs off the horse. His leg falters under him and for a horrifying second, he thinks he’ll fall.

The part of his brain not in a panic doesn’t think he could stand the indignity.

Some noise must escape him and he sees Magnus take a single step towards him before stopping. Thankful for that, Alec takes a deep breath and reaches for the cane he’s been using since that last battle six weeks ago now.

Turning around to face the man who’s owned his heart since they were children, he can only imagine what he looks like. Dusty from the road, lips pulled down in a grimace of pain at the bullet trapped against the bone of his thigh-- that the surgeon couldn’t remove unless the whole damn leg was amputated-- with his heart, battered and bruised, held in his shaking hands.

His steps are halting, slow, but his eyes don’t leave Magnus’s until he’s standing before him. Like this, they’re the same height and he watches as Magnus runs desperate eyes over him, examining him from head to toe with a sort of violent frenzy. His gaze lands on his left hand and Alec hears his muted gasp as his eyes fly back up to meet his.

Tears fall and they each reach up at the same time to wipe them away.

“Lord Lightwood as I live and breathe,” Magnus says softly. His hands come up to cup Alec’s cheeks before he’s leaning in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “You came home to me, my darling.”

Pulling back just enough to look into his best friend’s eyes, Alec’s voice is hoarse as he replies, “I made a promise that I’d always come back to you, Magnus.” He looks away as he forces himself to say the words that make his throat ache. “I understand, however, if this is no longer what you want. As you can see, war has changed me and I cannot ask someone else to share the burden of my new body. Not to mention everything else. If--”

Before he can continue, Magnus is urging him to face him. “You have been my heart since we were children, Alexander. I have loved you since we were hiding away from our governesses and playing pranks on our Latin tutor. I loved you when you were half a world away where I couldn’t follow. I will love you until I take my dying breath-- all of you, every single piece that has returned to me against all odds.”

Overcome, Alec closes his eyes. He takes a shuddering breath when he feels lips ghost over his cheek. It strikes him, the familiarity of such a gesture that he hasn’t had in five years. It almost feels like a different person.

“I’m not saying it will be easy or that it won’t be an adjustment,” Magnus murmurs, bringing their heads together until their foreheads touch. “However, as long as you want me, I am yours, darling. I, too, made a promise and I see by your hand that you must remember it.”

Silence descends upon them and the last of the day’s light washes away to leave them in shadows. Alec barely manages to nod in acknowledgement. The relief and hope rampaging through him is dizzying.

And then Magnus whispers one last sentence that has the breath wrenching from his lungs.

“Welcome home, darling.”

It’s like a dam bursts and Alec is surging forward, claiming Magnus’s mouth in a desperate kiss that speaks of a thousand lonely nights and the washing away of a terror so deep that it’s carved itself into his bones.

His balance shifts as he moves, though, and while he could easily ignore the pain shooting through his leg, it’s not so easy to do so when he’s at great risk of falling and humiliating himself in front of the one person he’d never wish to appear weak in front of.

Magnus breaks the kiss, breathing harshly, as he wraps a hand around Alec’s back. “Let’s get you inside, darling,” he offers lowly.

The words sting and Alec can’t help but wish he had returned from war unscathed. But when Magnus looks up it’s not with pity or revulsion. Instead, there’s a devilish glint in his eyes as he simply suggests, “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in bed.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the relief of returning home or Magnus himself but Alec finds himself laughing and it fills the entry hall, is no doubt heard by the servants as it rings throughout the house.

With Magnus helping him to the stairs-- he’s familiar enough with the layout to know they’re heading towards his chambers-- Alec kisses the top of his head, scrunching his nose as he breathes deep and gets a lungful of Magnus’s sandalwood pomade.

“Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr or twitter @carmenlire!


End file.
